


House of Cards

by exbex



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7854301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Kent’s fifth birthday, his father had put him up on his shoulders and pointed to the fireworks in the sky. “Those are for you, Kenny.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	House of Cards

**Author's Note:**

> The Patater shippers are geniuses. Exhibit A: https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/kall-boi-k
> 
> (More angst and less sex than I planned, but that's how it goes, eh?)
> 
>  
> 
> Check Please! belongs to Ngozi Ukazu

He does not get paid nearly enough, Kent figures as he looks at his bank balance. It’s not the nature of the work; there’s a reason Kent doesn’t quit and just dance for money, and it’s not just because “hey, it’s legal in Nye County” isn’t enough to make a resume impressive. It’s because it doesn’t matter how long the days are, Kent still has a long way to go before he can afford to go to school, and he’s wondering if he’ll make it before he ages out of the job.

Kent’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the bedside stand’s phone ringing.

“Hey Meg,” he greets after he rolls onto his back and gets the receiver tucked next to his ear.

“You have a new one,” Meg responds without preamble. 

“Clothes off or on?” he asks, reaching absentmindedly for the top button on his shirt.

“On,” she replies, “and his requests are: undressing, but no music or striptease, watching you jerk off, and then anal, with you bottoming.”

Kent will never get over how the mousy-looking, bespectacled woman can rattle off these kinds of lists all day in an almost monotone. He’s probably not the only one who’s underpaid.

“Alright, got it Meg. Hey, what I am expecting?”

“He’s over six feet tall, big hands, and I can’t tell from his clothes, but I’m fairly certain he meets the definition of ‘ripped.’

“How’s the face?” Kent asks, because his interest has been piqued. He rifles around in the drawer of the bedside stand and makes sure that the condoms are handy. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Meg answers dryly. “I’ll send him up in twenty.” 

It’s enough time for Kent to prep himself, first physically, then mentally. He doesn’t need much; if anything is going to drive him around the bend from this job, it’ll be boredom. 

Another reason to get out; there was a time when sex was fun, when he got to do the choosing and didn’t have to play a role. 

Of course, there was also a time when he figured he had the world at his feet and the choices were endless.

There’s a knock on the door and Kent takes one last glance in the mirror to check his game face. Flirty smile on point, he heads to the door and eases it open.

Some guys look nervous, some guys look ashamed, and some are all business. This one’s different. If anything, he looks shy, which is completely incongruous because Meg wasn’t kidding; the guy is tall and broad. Kent gives him the once-over. Dark hair and eyes, strong features. Kent can’t decide if he’s pretty or arresting-looking or just cute. There’s a definite quality to that face though, and as he catches sight of a gold chain glinting behind his shirt-collar, Kent pegs the accent even before the man speaks.

“Are you Kent?”

“Sure am. Come in, Handsome.” He steps aside, opening the door wider, shutting it once the man has entered the room and is looking around as if he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

“You can take a seat,” Kent says, gesturing toward the armchair. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Some guys grip the armrests, some guys try to feign nonchalance, but the man simply sits and folds his hands in his lap, as if he’s waiting for dinner rather than a seduction. It’s almost endearing.

Kent positions himself in front of the man and puts on his most seductive smile, removing clothing casually, at a relaxed pace. The man’s eyes are taking on more interest, and when Kent backs up to lay on the bed, positioning himself so as to maximize the view, his customer shifts forward a bit in the chair.

Kent stretches out like a cat, putting on a purr to match, and lazily strokes his cock. It’s easier than it often is, to get aroused, easier than it usually is to focus on the face that’s focusing on him. It’s a pleasant surprise, really.

The man in the chair starts to look a lot less shy, an almost ravenous look flickering across his face. By the time Kent is arching up off the bed and gasping, he’s standing and stripping out of his own clothes, not fumbling, just purposeful in his movements.

Kent’s a professional; he doesn’t linger on the bed, nor does he rush. He manages a casual air as he cleans himself up and looks steadily into his customer’s eyes. “How do you want me, Gorgeous?”

“Alexei,” the man replies, and he’s pulling the covers back. He moves gracefully, for being so tall, so broad, with those long limbs. He slides into bed, shoves a pillow behind his head, and looks steadily at Kent, more steady than he really ought to be, hard and leaking as he is.

“You want me to ride you, Alexei?” Kent thinks it’s a nice name, albeit seeming kind of gentle for someone so massive.

“Please. Kent.” And Alexei’s eyes are half-lidded and he’s looking at Kent as if Kent is some kind of fine wine, and Kent can’t help but wonder why someone who can give a look like that would be paying for it. Inwardly, of course, he shrugs; they don’t pay him to fuck, they pay for the lack of strings. He plucks a condom out of the drawer and makes quick work, ripping the packet open and rolling it onto Alexei.

It’s been a few years since Kent blew out his knee and watched every single one of his dreams fall prey to the needle, but he keeps himself in shape, and not just to look good. It’s easy enough to position himself, prop himself up by his hands, his elbows, and sink down onto Alexei’s cock, easy enough to hold the position as long as he’s asked.

Kent doesn’t think he can be surprised anymore, but Alexei manages it. Some guys have a death grip, some guys don’t really know what to do with their hands, but Alexei’s hands are sure and steady, gripping Kent’s ass as if they know exactly what they want. He murmurs a string of Russian as the pace quickens, but then he slows down, thrusting purposefully, biting his lower lip. Kent finds himself quite taken by it all, for whatever reason, and it’s easy, natural even, to throw his head back and moan the man’s name.

Kent doesn’t know why he feels so tired afterwards, but he slides his clothes back on in the easy, practiced manner that he’s perfected, and flashes a lazy grin at Alexei. “Am I going to get to see you again?” It’s the same question he asks every single one of his customers, so when Alexei looks at him, steadily, and replies with “yes. I think so,” Kent can’t figure out why it makes his heart skip a beat.

**

Seventeen months pass more quickly than Kent could have imagined. In those seventeen months, Kent usually sees Alexei once a week, gets to know him rather well, and still, so much goes unsaid. That’s the nature of the work. Just because he actually looks forward to seeing Alexei doesn’t mean anything.

(He knows, probably, a hundred more things about Alexei than Alexei knows about him. That is also the nature of the work).

The day Alexei tells him to keep his clothes on, Kent knows something is up.

“Did you really just pay to have a conversation?” Kent is perched on the edge of the bed, while Alexei is sitting in the armchair, hands gripping the arm rests this time.

“I am being traded,” Alexei says, without preamble. “I leave for Providence in three days.”

It shouldn’t feel like a punch in the gut. Kent feels like an idiot.

“Come with me,” Alexei continues, eyes wide, earnest.

Kent licks his lip, nervously. He has a history of saying the wrong things when shit gets difficult. “I don’t exactly have a resume, Alexei” he bites out carefully.

“I can…” Alexei’s eyebrows knit together as he searches for the word. “Sponsor you. You can go to university.” 

Kent’s eyes widen. Alexei has bothered to memorize, apparently, the few things that Kent has allowed to slip. “So, you want to be my sugar daddy.” This is ridiculous. This isn’t happening. “This isn’t the movies, Alexei.”

Alexei’s face softens, and Kent suddenly feels agitated. “Kenny, you do not have to do anything you are not wanting.”

Kent closes his eyes, breathes, opens his eyes again. “Alexei, I’m not a charity case.” Because Kent Parson, for all his faults, knows how to lay in any bed he’s made, and he’s pulled himself up out of the gutter without help before.

He expects Alexei to get agitated, but instead his hands loosen their grip. “So maybe you look for work, whatever you can fit in next to studying.”

It remains unsaid between them. This is not just Alexei being friendly and good-natured. This is not just Kent seeing a way out that he’s been trying to save for. But if either of them acknowledges it, Kent just knows that he’s going to break into thousands of pieces. “Okay,” he breathes.

**

On Kent’s fifth birthday, his father had put him up on his shoulders and pointed to the fireworks in the sky. “Those are for you, Kenny.”

Kent had stared, wide-eyed, and believed it.

**

The last days of winter in Rhode Island take Kent back to a place he tries not to think about, his work as a bar-back is only part-time, and he can’t start classes until the summer term. The apartment that Alexei has set him up with isn’t big enough for both Kent and his antsy pacing, so he uses the key to Alexei’s place and his modest cooking skills, figures that his charm and Alexei’s fondness will be enough to alleviate any concern over his showing up unannounced.

Alexei seems surprised to see him, but delighted. Kent throws him his patented easy smile. “You’re looking a little rough around the edges already,” he purrs as he sets a plate in front of Alexei and runs one hand suggestively over the stubble on his face.

“Not everyone can be as beautiful as you,” Alexei replies, one eyebrow quirked up, the corners of his mouth shifting to match. Kent, as usual, wonders at the enigma; Alexei has that guileless charm to go along with his unconventional good looks, enough to snag anyone he could want. His decision to buy sex would indicate that he likes the discretion, the ability to shake the dust off, and yet he takes the risk of moving his favorite call boy across the country.

(The truth isn’t easy to ignore, but Kent’s done it before, knows now when to face it and when to bury it).

It’s easy, to listen to Alexei talk about playoffs, easy to make small talk about bar patrons as they make their way through dinner and cleanup, easy and familiar to straddle Alexei’s lap and trace intent kisses down his neck.

“Kenny, are you wanting this?” 

The uncertainty in Alexei’s voice is agitating in a way that Kent can’t quite explain. He allows himself an exasperated eye roll before pulling back to give his casually seductive look. “You don’t think I just showed up to cook dinner and wash dishes, do you?”

Alexei’s tongue darts between his lips, his expression wanting. Kent relaxes; he’s got him.

“I do not want you thinking that you have to do this.”

‘I’m not a fucking charity case, I told you,’ Kent thinks, but he catches the retort before it escapes him. “You always make it so good for me,” he murmurs instead, then smirks as Alexei’s eyes grow dark with desire.

It is good, minutes later, as Alexei is fucking him into the mattress, Kent gripping his shoulders, gasping. He tells himself it’s because he hasn’t had sex in almost three weeks, that it’s because it’s not a job anymore, not really.

He almost manages to convince himself.

**

On Kent’s fifth birthday, his father had put him up on his shoulders and pointed to the fireworks in the sky. “Those are for you, Kenny.”

Kent had been too young, at the time, to understand the concepts of coincidence and arbitrariness. 

**

Kent is too old for fairy tales, so he spends the spring working as much as he can, looking over his balances, and sighing when he thinks about the cost of school and the cost of living and how it’s never going to be enough.

It’s illogical, to feel like he’s taking advantage, even when he finds himself in Alexei’s bed. He fights what his mind is telling him when hooking up turns into full-blown dates, when he spends the night more often than not, tells himself that it’s because Alexei’s spending a lot of money on him, and that if he wants the boyfriend experience, he should get the boyfriend experience.

Kent is too old for fairy tales, so when he watches the Falconers win the Stanley Cup for the first time in franchise history, it’s from the bar, one eye on the TV, one eye on the liquor he’s restocking. He can’t hear anything but the roar of the bar’s patrons in his ears, but he can feel his heart pounding. He can’t lie to himself; it’s not excitement he’s feeling. He doesn’t know exactly what it is, but he can’t pretend.

Alexei texts him a few days later, asking him to come over. Kent takes a long look in the mirror before he leaves, schooling his features.

It’s jealousy, he tells himself, this thing he’s feeling. It’s the second championship Alexei has won in his career. Some people get to lead such charmed lives, and Kent, once upon a time, thought he had a chance at the World Series, at that same kind of charmed existence.

The lie is as precarious as the body that failed him all those years ago, at the mind that followed soon after.

“I have teammate,” Alexei begins, after the teasing and flirting and the congratulations. “He want to come out soon.”

Kent isn’t often thrown, but hadn’t expected this. Even so, he knows what Alexei’s next words will.

“I want to come out soon. Jack and I, we do it together, have support. Make it easier.”

Kent’s initial thought is to shrug dismissively, say something like ‘good for you,’ or ‘have fun with that.’ He knows though, that his attempts at pretense will shatter quickly. “Why are you telling me this?” he asks instead, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you are important Kent. I am tired of secrets.” Alexei looks as serious as Kent has ever seen him, his eyes unwavering.  
Anger is, so often, a cover for fear, for hurt.

“Really, Alexei?” and Kent can hear the ice in his voice, knows that he should take a breath, back up, but it’s as if an avalanche has been triggered. “So what are you going to tell people? Oh yeah, this is Kent. We’ve been playing at being boyfriends, but really he’s this hooker I used to visit when I played for Vegas, and I decided I wanted to buy him out, have my own little personal whore around.”

Alexei doesn’t get angry at this, doesn’t try to cover the hurt in his eyes. It must be nice, Kent thinks, to have such luxuries.

“Kent, you are much more than you think you are.”

It would be the perfect thing to say, if they lived in a fairy tale, if life was like the movies.

“Fuck you,” Kent snarls, his voice cracking, tears threatening to spill over. “Is that what you thought when you walked into the brothel, when you made all your requests and picked me out from a photograph? And that’s a rhetorical fucking question, Asshole..” He pivots, scrubs a hand furiously at his eyes.

“Kenny, please…”

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” he sobs as he tears away. 

**

He spends hours wandering, ignoring the buzzing of his phone. Eventually, he goes back to his apartment. It’s been years since he had anywhere to go. Escapes, like fairy tales, are luxuries never afforded to him.

**

On Kent’s fifth birthday, his father had put him up on his shoulders and pointed to the fireworks in the sky. “Those are for you, Kenny.”

It was the last lie Kent ever thought was harmless.

**

He’s working his way up at the bar, getting more hours and better pay as a bartender. Soon, he figures, he can swing it on his own, as far as rent and everything, and what’s a little student loan debt, all things considered? He finds himself scowling, sometimes, thinking about Alexei, and tells himself it’s because he’s still tied to the man, financially.

It’s not last call yet, but things are winding down. There’s no missing the sight of Alexei entering the bar, cap pulled down over his eyes. He takes a stool at the end of the bar, about as far away from Kent as he can get and still guarantee that Kent will have to talk to him.

“Vodka soda?” Kent doesn’t bother with pretense. Alexei looks up at him, nods with a smile. Kent wonders where he gets the nerve.

Kent has a few beers to refill, and then he wipes down the bar, making his way to where Alexei nurses his drink. His insides may twist up at the sight of him, but Kent figures he owes the man. “I’m listening,” he says quietly.

“I am going to Russia for a few weeks,” Alexei begins. “Will you keep eye on house for me?”

Kent clicks his tongue. It’s obvious what Alexei is doing. “What will you pay?” he asks anyway.

“Anything left in refrigerator,” Alexei replies. “Hot water, cable, internet.” 

“Hmm, I have hot water at the apartment that you’re paying for.”

Alexei shrugs. “You work more hours now, maybe you pay rent soon. Maybe you get grant money from government for school, maybe you get good grades and get money from school also.”

Kent ducks his head, the hint of a smile threatening to appear at the corners of his mouth. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Maybe it’s cold, but Alexei seems to get it. He smirks. “How much for drink?”

“Eight bucks,” Kent replies, before being distracted by another customer. “One sec,” he says. When he turns back, he sees that Alexei is gone and there’s a ten dollar bill next to his barely touched drink.

**

When Kent lets himself into Alexei’s place, there’s an envelope with his name on it placed dead center in the island of the kitchen. Kent’s heart races as he opens it.

Kent,

I was lonely in Las Vegas. I had friends, but I was too afraid to be myself.

I am too much romantic to treat sex like business deal, but you listened to me. Some people get tired listening to me talk, but you didn’t. Maybe you say it is your job, but you made me feel better.

I did not have all good reasons when I ask you to move here. I would lie if I say I want nothing from you, but I not expect anything from you. I ask that you let me help you though, as friend.  
Alexei

Kent folds the paper into four squares and puts it into the pocket of his jeans.

**

Kent falls asleep on Alexei’s sofa the night he’s due back from Russia. When he opens his eyes the next morning, he can hear noises coming from the kitchen and smell bacon frying.

When he walks into the kitchen, his breath stutters at the sight of Alexei, rumpled and puttering about. He closes his eyes, because desire is a dangerous thing, ripping through him like the pain of withdrawal.

When he opens his eyes Alexei is facing him with a tentative smile

“Good morning Kenny. I see you not let things fall apart while I’m gone. Is very good.”

Kent cracks a smile and makes his way to the cupboard to grab plates. The silence is only mildly awkward as they eat, only interrupted by small talk about Kent’s classes and   
Alexei’s time in Russia. Kent reaches across the table for Alexei’s hand. Alexei, hesitates for just a moment, then holds Kent’s lightly, as if offering an out should Kent want one.

“I kind of want to kiss you right now,” Kent says, and Alexei’s eyes go soft. 

“There’s a lot I need to tell you though,” Kent says, his voice shaking just slightly. “I’ve got a lot of baggage. It’s not pretty.”

Alexei’s look is patient, hopeful. “Is okay. When you are ready.”

**

When the kiss does come, weeks later, it’s weightless, unencumbered by conditions, and Kent, for the first time in a very long time, holds on to something resembling hope.


End file.
